She wears an immaculate tweed suit, a pearl necklace, and her white hair is pulled into a severe bun. A teacup rests in her hand as she sips calmly from it.
For someone supposedly experiencing “possible cardiac symptoms,” she looks remarkably comfortable.
“Dr. McLeod,” she says with a broad smile. “How kind of you to come so quickly.”
I approach cautiously, every instinct on alert.
“Mrs. McGregor. I was told you were experiencing concerning symptoms?”
“Sit down, dear. You’re making me dizzy standing there like a fence post.”
Not really a request.
More of an order with barely a layer of politeness painted over it.
I sit in the chair she indicates with a wave of her teacup.
“Tell me about your symptoms, Mrs. McGregor.”
“Oh, call me Maggie. Mrs. McGregor was my mother-in-law, and she was utterly unbearable, God rest her soul.”
She sets down her teacup with a delicate clink against the saucer.
“I had palpitations this morning. Dizziness. And pain... right here.”
She places a hand vaguely over the left side of her chest.
So vaguely it could be anywhere between her heart and her stomach.
I pull out my stethoscope.
“How long have you been experiencing these symptoms?”
“Oh, difficult to say. Three hours? Maybe four. Time flies when you get older.”
I rise and step closer.
“I’ll need to examine you. With your permission.”
“Of course, of course.”
I place the stethoscope against her chest over her blouse. Her heartbeat is steady.
Seventy-two beats per minute.
No detectable arrhythmia.
No suspicious murmur.
“Take a deep breath for me, please.”
She obeys. Her lungs are clear. No wheezing. No crackles.
“Again.”
Still nothing.
I step back and pull out the blood pressure cuff.
